In Memoriam A. H. H.: 7. Dark House, by Which Once More I S

Dark house, by which once more I stand
       Here in the long unlovely street,
       Doors, where my heart was used to beat
   So quickly, waiting for a hand,
   A hand that can be clasp’d no more—
       Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
       And like a guilty thing I creep
   At earliest morning to the door.
   He is not here; but far away
      The noise of life begins again,
      And ghastly thro’ the drizzling rain
  On the bald street breaks the blank day.
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